The Sonora Desert: but where is Don Juan Matus?
Among the few surviving material fragments from my life in the mid-1970s is the bundle of age-worn faded yellow pieces of parchment-like paper that goes by the name 'Journey to the Centre of the Brain'. You probably get the idea. Much of it is unprintable, consisting as it largely does of convoluted ramblings on the themes of attachment, overcoming the ego, transcending materialism and asceticism, and the like. Yet, sprinkled amongst the purple hippie prose of the sixteen chapters of 'Journey' are, if I may say so, some genuine insights. And there is Chapter Fifteen: the Booklist. Having reminded the reader of the limits of the written word - that it merely points the way, rather than being the way -, I conclude with the sentiment: 'I would like to thank my authorities, the authors.'
The list includes some of the usual suspects for the time: Alan Watts, Norman O. Brown, Herman Hesse, along with my personal Tibetan primer, 'Secret Oral Teachings of Tibetan Buddhist Sects' by Alexandra David-Neel ('The Tibetans have got it all sussed out,' I enthuse in my accompanying notes. 'This is the best summary.'). But pride of place on the list ('Perhaps these are my favourite books.') goes to the first three volumes in a series that was to impact deeply on mine and innumerable other people's lives: 'The Teachings of Don Juan', 'A Separate Reality' and 'Journey to Ixtlan' by one Carlos Castaneda.
I took Castaneda, the unwitting and sometime witless sorcerer's apprentice, and Don Juan Matus, his shaman/sorcerer teacher, the 'very wise fool', as I described him in 'Journey', extremely seriously. Long fireside conversations into the depth of the winter night with one of my fellow communards became the order of the day. Like most other Castaneda readers of the time, we didn't think to question the literal veracity of the stories and teachings that cast their spell upon us. Since then, however, a goodly number of sceptics (not to mention out-and-out non-believers) has emerged. For some people, this debunking of the literal Castaneda has been hard to take - a trawl through the internet throws up sites where folk clearly feel betrayed on discovering that Castaneda might have written most of his stuff in the library rather than faithfully recording 'real' meetings with Don Juan, Don Genaro, and the rest.
Just where all Castaneda's material came from we will never really know: it's a secret the author took with him to his grave - or on his final flight from the tonal, as he might put it in his books. At the end of the day, it's a piece of information that I feel is largely irrelevant. Those who bewail the possibility the stories didn't literally happen have fallen precisely into the mindset that the books are intended to shake us out of. They have fallen prey to the same literalism that plagues Christian and Muslim fundamentalists, insisting on the historical reality of the stories comprising their central texts. They have failed to see the narrative basis to our reality; how reality is created by the stories we tell ourselves. Even those who protest with 'I don't fall for this story bullshit, I just believe in what I see and hear' are still telling themselves a story.
All the 'major world religions' are actually based on stories, whether they like it or not. Hindus seem generally more comfortable with this state of affairs, happy to found their systems and practices on myths about the gods and goddesses as communications of deeper realities. And some Buddhists I have known develop a pragmatic approach, pointing out that the historical accuracy of the Buddha's life story is secondary to whether the Buddhist practices work or not.
Whatever the historical status of Castaneda's writings, their continued power as narratives that influence people, and specifically orient them toward wider realities, cannot be doubted. This is as true for the final book in the Castaneda corpus, 'The Active Side of Infinity', as for any other. Penned shortly before he died, it is remarkable for several reasons. While not explicitly stated, one of the prime concerns of this book, written by a dying man, is how to prepare for death. Obliquely, it addresses the question: if we know we are soon to die, what should we be doing? The overall context for appropriate action is provided by Don Juan Matus's instruction to Carlos to 'relate the memorable events of his life.' At first, Castaneda doesn't get it. He relates stories about what he thinks were important moments: being admitted to university, the time he nearly got married. 'No, no,' protests Don Juan. 'These stories are too personal.' Stories that finally fit the bill are ones that 'touch every one of us human beings, not just you.'
Carlos is further instructed to undertake the 'recapitulation'. He has to make a list of all the people he has ever known, and recall everything he can about each one. Carlos soon finds out, as Don Juan says, 'the power of the recapitulation is that it stirs up all the garbage of our lives and brings it to the surface.' Further, he is told to find the people who have been important in his life, but to whom he has failed to express his thanks. 'Warrior-travellers don't leave any debts unpaid,' says Don Juan. 'You must make a token payment in order to atone, in order to appease infinity.' Castaneda must search them out and buy them as a gift anything they may ask for. The people concerned turn out to be two women he had known at junior college, Patricia Turner and Sandra Flanagan. Finding them again requires the service of a private investigator, but atone Carlos eventually does. And as if all this is not enough, he is then confronted by Don Juan with those people he failed to thank and who are no longer alive, including those he did not communicate with because he was blind to their proximity to death. Strong stuff.
To cap it all, it is in 'The Active Side of Infinity' that Don Juan gives his teaching on the 'topic of topics', namely the flyers, the mind predators, an episode previously covered in 'Archons Everywhere', Pale Green Vortex January 25th 2011.
Texts for the dying? The Bardo Thodol (popularly known as 'The Tibetan Book of the Dead')? Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, maybe? But 'The Active Side of Infinity' is right up there as a most instructive book for facing the inevitable disintegration of our physical form. And its final chapter is one of the most disquieting things I have ever read; no happy-ever-after endings in the Castaneda version of life. A chapter that deserves an essay of its own.
Picture: Wise Woman University
